The yellow dog and I just had occasion to run up to the county road that snakes along the ridge top. I noticed as always this time of year that spring is in perpetual transition. Walking down to the vehicle, the lilacs are close to full bloom today.

I glance to the barn and see that all the peach blossoms are gone. I look across the garden and see that the wild plum tree is starting to fade. We had several wild plum trees along there until the ice storm of ’09. The redbud trees behind still have color.

I’m momentarily occupied inserting a fuse so that various things on the vehicle will work.

Up the drive we go, gaining elevation. Looking into the woods, I slow to a stop when I see specks of white to ascertain from a distance what the flowers belong to. I’m a bit alarmed at the number of the little thorny lime trees I see growing. I call them “lime trees” while the books call them “trifoliate orange.” It’s a citrus species from Korea and China gone wild in our sheltered hollow. I’ve written about them before. They produce a nice looking fruit similar to a lime that doesn’t seem good for much of anything besides maybe squeezing into a glass of summer lemonade or iced tea.

I like having a few around because they’re exotic and have been here much longer than I, but they shouldn’t get out of hand. For one thing, their thorns are not friendly. I know from experience that they can go quite deep into flesh. The photograph does not do them justice.

I do see some white flowers here and there that I did not notice yesterday. This is an example, under these two massive oaks that I think of as formidable sentries to the hollow.

The yellow one and I disembark for a closer look. It is as I expected, the dogwood blossom, the official harbinger of tourists to the Ozarks. Except this year, this year is different. The world is advertised as being in disarray yet these trees go about their business and take no notice.

Like any good Arkansawyer who lives in the woods, I run across bones periodically and save a few. Over the years they accumulate, but not being too methodical about it, they get stuck here and there, in stuff and under stuff. The other day I was moving things around in an outbuilding and uncovered bones that had been missing for years. I said, “Well, there they are.” Shrek glanced over but did not comment. (As a reminder, Shrek is a fat yellow dog.)

With so little firewood left, perhaps it’s good that winter has come to an end.

Directly behind the house is a spring that never dries up (which is good because it’s where we get our water). Year round we can step out the back and hear a reassuring gurgle. Occasionally, if there’s been enough rain, the water doesn’t just seep out at ground level behind the Masters family’s spring box, but comes out the hillside above. We’ve had enough rain that the gurgle can’t be heard for the roar of the waterfall. This photograph doesn’t do justice to the dramatic transformation.

Even a mild winter has some cold nights.

There’s a nice lady on the ridge who baked us this beautiful cake from scratch. It was greatly appreciated.

This obviously isn’t Niagara Falls, but it’s larger than the photo indicates. After enough rain, this waterfall roars to life behind our little house in the hollow. This is what we see out the window.

Here’s a lovely apple pie for after supper.